Post Mortem
by Mad Morrigan
Summary: While Moira waits in the Fugue Plane, hilarity ensues. Ever wonder what happens when a character dies? Read and find out! Reviews encouraged.


**Post Mortem**

Mad Morrigan

The last memory Moira had of her time on Toril was waking up to a pair of eyes in the middle of the night and then everything going suddenly dark again, a soft but insistent pressure on her face and, after what seemed like eternity, everything going black again. That was a true and utter black, though, and she was a smart enough girl to know that it wasn't because it was night or the pillow or anything else that obvious. Although she suspected the worst, the fact that she was really and truly dead didn't make itself clear until she found herself in a landscape of stark greys and whites surrounded by a number of other people, half of which looked as confused as she felt. Half out of grief and half out of frustration, she felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

_Wait _, Moira thought to herself suddenly. _If I'm dead, then how can I cry? _The absurdity of the concept distracted her long enough that she forgot about crying, though she did notice that she was standing apart from a large group of other unfortunate souls, and she seemed to be wearing only a thin nightgown.

She thought about blushing, but then dead people didn't do that either.

"Hey, we got ourselves another one!" a voice called from the crowd, and the masses looked her way. Moira blushed anyway, though many of them were in the same state as her or worse – one ragged soul nearby was actually naked! – but she, as befitting a noble's daughter, jutted out her chin and held her head up high. Since she was far from regal about meeting her actual death, she'd damn well make sure to make the best of her after-death… _wait, no _, she thought. _Undeath? _

_No, that's not right either. _She sighed. Being dead was turning out to be much more of a complication than she was taught.

As it turned out, people didn't sleep while dead either. That left her with several more hours in which to pass the time, and the Fugue Plane – as she found was the place's name – was a really boring place. It was flat, it was grey, and the ever-pervading sense of doom weighed heavily upon everyone. After sitting with a group of elderly wizards who perished in some sort of magical accident ("All except for that blasted Szass!") and briefly attempting conversation with what looked like a small party of black-skinned elves who were exceedingly nasty (and didn't even speak Common), Moira found herself standing next to a dark man who looked about as lonely as she felt.

"How long have you been waiting around?" she asked hopelessly, taking a seat upon the pebbly grey ground. He looked down at her surprised, as if conversation was the last thing he expected.

"Nine d-d-days," he stuttered, looking up at the bleak landscape. "Yourself?"

"This is my second," Moira murmured, cocking her head and looking at him. Upon closer inspection he was a half-elf and probably a warrior, based on his physique. His clothing was dirty and ragged, and if she could still smell she'd have guessed that he wouldn't be laundry fresh. Still, he seemed nice enough, and he looked sad. That alone made Moira decide she'd stay awhile and talk.

She found out over the course of several hours that his name was Khalid and he was from Calimshan; he missed his wife and his friends, and he listened to her speak about how she missed her brother and father. It made her feel better to have someone to speak in Alzhedo with and, disregarding his stutter, he was actually a rather good conversationalist. She and Khalid passed the day speaking with each other and a rather morose elf who happened to have a Talis deck, and they did rather a lot of reminiscing about their past lives to Moira's vague distaste. Still, the afterlife started to look a little less bleak around then, despite the elf's whining.

Besides, she won four out of six games of Trumps and would have made a tidy sum had she not been living-impaired at the time.

In what would have been the wee hours of her third morning, the trio's seventh game of Trumps was interrupted by a bright flash of light, followed by the faint sound of horns and the feeling of the sun at midday. Suddenly, a strange being with skin of emerald, feathered wings, and a slender trumpet emerged from a crack in the sky and scanned the crowd of unliving people. It looked briefly at Moira for a moment, then turned its attention to Khalid and pointed, blowing a single, clear note from its horn.

"I think th-this is my t-time t-to go," he said, a strange expression on his face, and without taking his eyes off of the odd being he left their little group and joined a few others whom the angel had picked out. The elf – Xan – looked at her and shrugged.

"If I'd had my way I would have become a ghost," he said, before peering down at Khalid's hand. "Don't suppose you want to divvy up his cards?"

Moira sighed, and gave a last look at the retreating parade of people following the green-skinned . Hopefully soon it would be her turn.

Four more gods had come the day after to collect their servants, but none of them was Ilmater and Moira was growing tired of waiting (even though the nasty group of ebony-skinned elves seemed to have left, and the overall place was left much more pleasant). Xan, for his part, had grown bored of Trumps and left her to go and sulk somewhere else. Though a fair number of people had left, more and more dead stragglers trickled in as the grey sky went from pale to dark and back again. Moira found herself missing Khalid and Trumps and wandering around the crowds aimlessly, sucked in by the oppressive atmosphere.

_At least one person seems almost happy _, she thought, catching sight of Xan. Since she had met him, he seemed to sulk almost cheerfully about the entire ordeal.

The day proceeded like the past few before, though around midday a scuffle broke out among a group of newly arrived souls and Moira found herself following the crowds until, to her surprise, she came to the edge of the large circle where it appeared an armored knight was pummeling the ex-living daylights out of a red-robed mage.

_Ilmater's Grace! _Moira thought to herself. _I didn't know spirits could still bleed! _

"Slaving, two-faced bastard!" a familiar voice shouted, aiming another gauntleted strike at the mage's head. "Take **that **!"

"Enough, dimwit!" the wizard retorted, scrabbling at the knight's armor. They rolled around the grey ground for awhile longer until the fight gradually petered out, then lay a little while longer panting for breath. Disappointed, the crowd started to scatter – all except for Moira (who was riveted to the scene in horror), a couple of Tempuran warriors (who looked hopeful that the fight would start again), and Xan (who appeared to have nothing better to do).

"Where the deuce have you taken us to, Odesseiron?" the knight growled between breaths.

"Simian, it was your _own _stupidity that got you killed (though it comes as no surprise)! You should feel honoured that it was _I _who brought you here!" 'Odesseiron' spat venomously. The knight heaved a disgusted sigh then pulled himself to his feet, though he made no effort to do the same to his compatriot, and took a look around.

And then froze.

"Simian? Hello, _idiot _?" the wizard asked.

"Moira?" the knight asked tentatively as the mage slowly picked himself up and brushed grey dust off of his brilliant robes.

"What has gotten into his vapid head now, I wonder (though the abyss of his mind seems vast indeed!)…"

"Anomen!" Moira exclaimed, elated for a brief moment before her heart fell. If Anomen was here, then that meant – _no, it couldn't be… _

She panicked, but her brother seemed not to notice.

"Oh – Moira!" Anomen breathed before rushing over to her and embracing her. Had she been alive still, the crushing force of her brother in full-plate would likely have done her in but for once, being deceased had its advantage. "My darling sister, I thought I would never– until the day I died –"

From over her brother's shoulder, Moira could see the red-robed wizard rolling his eyes. Anomen said a few more things to Moira that she didn't quite catch as she curiously watch the other man take stock of his surroundings. Odesseiron caught her staring at him and gave her a feral-looking smile.

"Tell your addlepated brother to make it hasty," he whispered to her. "Say that Edwin Odesseiron has a score to settle with him (and may he only wish he doesn't meet more deaths yet!)."

"… things I've wanted to say but could not," Anomen said into Moira's hair, holding her tightly. "I love you, Moira, and I swear upon our mother's grave and Helm that I will see you avenged…"

Moira, still in shock from the entire situation, simply nodded and thus did not hear it when Edwin snorted. From nearby, Xan too rolled his eyes and then cocked his head.

"Mmm," he drawled. "Don't I know you from somewhere?" Edwin only sniffed at him in response.

Xan sighed long-sufferingly. "Like I've said. I should have been a ghost..."

-Fin-


End file.
